


Repetitions

by newsbypostcard



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/F, Far Future, Mass Effect: Andromeda - Freeform, Retrospective, mass effect 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 03:23:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4163838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newsbypostcard/pseuds/newsbypostcard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Universally renowned Prothean expert Doctor Liara T'Soni boards the SSV Normandy in the year 804 -- 804 years after the Reaper Extinction Event, that is -- to aid the Alliance in their goal to amass as much Prothean technology, knowledge, and artifacts as possible from the comparatively undercharted Andromeda galaxy. But Liara's goals are soon proven to be different from those of the Alliance, who appears to be teaching its recruits that the Reapers are dead once and for all -- a message in <em>direct</em> contravention to what Liara spent so much of the first half of her life establishing as "fact" in the discipline of human history. Now aboard a ship with so many harsh reminders from her distant and yet prominent past, Liara's tasked with trying to popularize the <em>real</em> history among the Normandy's Captain and crew while carving out sympathy for her own goals in the upcoming excavations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repetitions

**Author's Note:**

> **Edit** , Jan 2016: This fic formerly had a second "outtake" chapter that I have opted to re-integrate into the main fic.
> 
> This fic came about after watching the first ME:A trailer, when I realized that Liara could still conceivably be alive within its time frame. I sure hope we get to see her, but if not, here she is.
> 
> I assumed a Destroy ending where Shepard dies immediately after the Crucible's detonation, in part because that is my personal preferred outcome and in part it gave me some interesting context to work with. I assumed the Reapers likely hit the Andromeda galaxy in 2186 (or sooner???) as well, and thus were likely destroyed at the same time all the others in the Milky Way were; however, the destruction of synthetic life still leaves those materials behind, which are usable and convertible for organic purposes, leading organics to a new type of hubris with technology that takes them down a weird new frontier of organic-synthetic relationships. I think, from those 1.882 seconds we saw in the e3 trailer, the Alliance is probably looking for Prothean tech in Andromeda, but they also have a whole new galaxy worth of formerly synthetic life to discover and, basically, loot. My personal headcanon is that Andromeda was overrun with synthetic life that is now entirely disabled thanks to the Destroy ending, so the Alliance is gonna go in and have themselves a picnic. But, you know, that's just my onion, apparently in HD.

The ship is, of course, called the SSV Normandy.

The similarities end there.

Well -- that’s not entirely true. Having spent time on so few human ships as she has, Liara is inevitably forced to acknowledge that being aboard _this_ Normandy feels more or less exactly like being aboard any other Normandy did. It isn’t that she hasn’t been on other ships since the Reaper War; she has; it’s more the fact that she has intentionally avoided most other human ships in order to avoid this exact feeling.

And what feeling is that, exactly? _Grief? Dread?_ Something else?

The armour, she thinks, is the worst part: N7 logos borne by the Captain and the XO, the insignia only barely more ubiquitous now than it was when the original Shepard alone had worn it, and even then not of the same model that Shepard had worn. The insignia had been long since redesigned, then redesigned another eight times after that, by a military body too stubborn to change itself completely but too ambitious to avoid retrofitting everything about themselves, _except_ the names.

Alliance. N7. Normandy. She would think of preserved nomenclature as horrific traditionalism if it wasn’t so atrociously common. Besides, she figures, if the mere words and titles are enough to send her so far into her own past as to be affected by the phrases alone, they were certainly enough to rouse the sort of pride and loyalty she imagines they are intended to promote.

Mind you -- in defense of sentimental nomenclature, she admits -- the first time she sees the Captain in full armour, she looks almost indistinguishable from Shepard -- _her_ Shepard. Same height, same build, and same basic armour features ... albeit with a few upgrades and alterations, you could have interchanged them in time and nobody would have been any the wiser.

So the situation is probably more complex than she’s giving herself credit for. It isn’t truly the fault of the armour. It’s just…

Well.

It’s just that it isn’t _helping_.

  


~

  


On the other hand, maybe worse than the nomenclature is that everyone seems hell-bent on calling her ‘Matriarch’.

“ _Doctor_ , please,” she corrects, leading with her right hand, then stopping, astonished, when the Alliance officer who had flagged her down winds up saluting her instead. “At ease,” she mutters awkwardly, saluting the officer back. “I assume you are here to take me to the Normandy?”

“Straight to business, then,” says the affable officer, but grows more serious when Liara stares. “Uh, yes ma’am. Lieutenant Quinn Eriksson -- Captain Solis sent me. She regrets she couldn’t be here herself, but there is still so much to do.”

“Of course, it’s no trouble.”

“Do you have everything you need, Doctor?”

“I do,” Liara confirms, hoisting two packs with ease and waving off Eriksson’s gesture to take them from her. “Please take care with the larger packages; that equipment is very expensive and difficult to replace.”

Eriksson looks around with confusion until Liara nods to the side of the hangar, where seven large crates are stacked for carriage onto the Normandy. It’s tough not to laugh when the young Lieutenant’s jaw drops. “I assume transportation won’t be an issue,” she says.

“No ma’am,” Eriksson replies, then hurriedly mutters for ‘a crane or something’ into her communications transceiver. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your quarters.”

“Oh. That’s very generous, but unnecessary. I am happy to use the cargo bay if--”

“That won’t be necessary, Matri -- Doctor,” Eriksson corrects. “This ship has been specially built for missions of reconnaissance of this sort. The Alliance anticipated the acquisition -- er -- the _accompaniment_ of an expert on the Protheans such as yourself on this mission -- although, admittedly, I’m not sure they thought they would actually get _you_.”

Liara glances at the Lieutenant. “I don’t see why not. I have devoted my life to unearthing as much Prothean technology as I can find. This mission fits very well with my aims and research.”

“I -- true, ma’am -- uh, Doctor -- but, uh. Heh.”

“What is it, Lieutenant?”

“You’re very famous, ma’am.”

Liara anticipates having a difficult time keeping a straight face for much of the mission if youth is to continue to entertain her to this degree. “To others, perhaps. To me, I am only myself.”

“I suppose that’s true, ma’am. I think about everyone across the Alliance is having a hard time believing that such a famous asari as Doctor T’Soni, Prothean expert, former Shadow Broker, sole remaining survivor of the Reaper Extermination Event who actually knew _the_ Commander Shepard--”

Liara drops her bags suddenly and turns to regard the Lieutenant directly. “--would personally want to find as many answers about the Reapers as she can?”

Eriksson blinks, then stands up straighter. “Yes, ma’am. I suppose the Alliance never bothered to think of it that way.”

Liara purses her lips. “I don’t mean to be brusque,” she says.

“No ma’am. I wasn’t thinking. I apologize.”

“No need to apologize.” She picks up her bags again and makes a note to put more effort into trying to maintain neutrality. “I understand it is difficult for many to comprehend my motives for being here, but I would hope they are respected nonetheless.”

“More than respected, Doctor. I think you’ll find everyone over the moon that you decided to join our mission.”

“I’m glad,” she says, turning the corner at Eriksson’s behest and entering, quite suddenly, the main control room.

She is surprised at its size; massive, triangular, and angled to the pilot at the apex with two dozen staff littered among holographic ports along the walls on either side, the ship looks decidedly different than what she's come to expect from human ships thus far.

Then, suddenly, Eriksson clears her throat and steps forward as though to make an announcement, and Liara instantly regrets not having prepared for this eventuality. “Attention, crew of the SSV Normandy!” Eriksson shouts into the room. “I am pleased to announce that our honoured guest, Doctor Liara T’Soni, is now officially aboard.”

Liara blinks blearily at the blast of immediate applause that follows.

“Maker. Thank you.” She stands and tolerates the attention for the minimum amount of time required so as not to appear ungrateful, then purses her lips and moves swiftly aside, escaping to the lift port on the left side of the room.

Eriksson steps into the lift beside her just before the doors close and stares straight ahead with her hands clasped behind her back, apparently unaware of Liara’s discomfort.

“Was that really necessary?” Liara mutters.

Eriksson blinks at her, surprised. “Oh -- damn. My apologies again, ma’am. It didn’t occur to me that you wouldn’t -- I mean, everyone knew you were coming, and I thought--”

“That may be, but I don’t wish to be treated like a celebrity.”

“With all due respect, Doctor -- You _are_ a celebrity.”

“I am not,” she replies, bitter. “Please make sure it is known among the crew that they are to treat me like any other crew member. I am not to be revered.”

“I -- I understand the sentiment, ma’am, but … that may be difficult for many of the crew to achieve.” Eriksson opens her mouth, then closes it again, and stares forward as though in thought. “To those of us in the Alliance, Doctor, you are the only remaining living soul who contributed to humanity’s survival. Half our Alliance history training isn’t only textbooks you wrote, they’re also experiences you lived. I respect what you’re saying, I do, and I’ll spread the word. But if you could meet the savior of the galaxy -- would you be able to pretend they were your equal?”

Had Liara herself not tripped over her own feet trying to make Javik as comfortable as possible during the brief time he was stationed aboard the original Normandy?

“I understand that it will be hard.” Liara sighs and flexes her fingers around the handles of her cases as the lift slows to a stop. “Please. I am asking as a favour to ask the crew to try. I will work more efficiently with a team who works with me, not for me.”

Eriksson considers this, then nods. “I’ll do my best, ma’am.”

“Thank you. That’s all I can ask.”

Eriksson beckons Liara back out into an unfamiliar corridor -- much less open, much more reminiscent of the human ships she remembers -- and leads her left, left again, then right, before punching a wall console and showing her into well-decorated quarters. They’re smaller than she was expecting -- too long unfamiliar with human standards, she guesses -- but still big enough for what she needs them for.

“I’m sorry to be high-maintenance. The decor is not to my liking. Is it possible to have it removed?”

“All of it?”

“Everything. I appreciate the trouble you went to to make this appear welcoming to an asari, but I prefer a minimalist workspace.”

“Understood. Is it otherwise acceptable?”

“Certainly. It’s more than I expected. Will it be a problem to get my supplies in? They won’t fit through that door.”

“The rooms aboard the Normandy are fully customizable. We can pull back a wall and put it in. If need be, we can expand the size of your room as well. Don’t hesitate to ask for anything else you need.”

“I won’t. Please thank your Captain.”

“Oh, she had nothing to do with this. But I’ll pass your message along to the right people.”

“Thank you.” Liara looks around, then realizes she doesn’t know what to do with herself in the absence of work and supplies. Eriksson is smiling at her as though having anticipated this reality.

“If you’d like, ma’am, I’d be happy to give you a tour.” She clears her throat. “It may help some of the crew acclimatize to your presence on the ship if they get used to seeing you walking through the halls.”

Liara nods. “A good thought. I would very much enjoy a tour, thank you.”

Eriksson, Liara shortly realizes, though bumbling, is in fact comparatively extremely relaxed. At some point during the tour of the ship, after enough flushed faces were overcome either by stunned silence or overexcitement at the sight of her, Liara registers that Eriksson had done none of these things, instead adjusting to each curveball Liara threw at her with remarkable ease.

“Lieutenant, I’d like to thank you,” Liara tells her when they have briefly paused in an observation bay after a tour of the Normandy’s seventh deck. “You’ve been asked to deal with some complex circumstances and you’ve done very well in accommodating me and my needs, despite that they weren’t what you expected.”

Eriksson gives a delighted smile and continues to stroll alongside Liara. “I’m pleased to hear you think so, ma’am. I grew up around asari, albeit much -- um -- younger ones.” Eriksson winces; Liara’s helpless to prevent a small smile from spreading over her face. “Asari talk about you differently than humans do. I tried my best to apply their mindset to the situation.”

“That’s very much appreciated. I imagine asari aren’t quite as preoccupied with the fact that I’ve lived as long as I have.”

“Many of them have met asari older than you.”

Liara hums. “The few that are left.”

Eriksson nods, then gives a pause. “I … uh. I gather you’re less popular among older asari.”

Liara smiles again, this time grimly. “I am pure asari. That was a negative trait among my people, once. To them it would seem ridiculous that I have rejected so thoroughly a typical asari lifestyle -- especially while Thessia and the colonies tried to rebuild in culture and population, and especially given my pureblood status. I have devoted my life to a history led by a human figure, a human organization, centered around the reclamation of a human homeworld. To my contemporaries, this is a betrayal.”

Eriksson seems captivated. “Is this why you don’t like to be called Matriarch?”

“I am Matriarch only in the sense that I have entered the final stage of my life, such that it is. I was never much of a Matron, either, and I wasted my Maiden stage working. As far as other Matriarchs are concerned, I have not undergone the varied milestones required to be considered a possessor of any cultural wisdom; I have no children, I’ve never settled in one place for long, I have no interest in community affairs. I am a careerist -- a fundamental quality of species whose lives are much shorter than our own. To some, I appear never to have aged beyond my Maiden priorities; to others, culturally speaking, I am barely asari anymore. I at least agree with them on one point: I am hardly anyone’s Matriarch.”

Eriksson studies her closely; Liara chooses to stare ahead. “With all due respect, Doctor,” Eriksson says after a while, “and not to try to dilute the specifics of asari culture: in some ways, humanity sees you as their Matriarch.”

Liara stops and turns to regard Eriksson with scrutiny. “This is a fabrication of human history, Lieutenant. I did little. Humanity’s real ‘Matriarch’ is Shepard. I just happen to have outlived her.”

Eriksson returns her stare for several long seconds; then, as the doors to the observation bay slide open in the distance, her eyes flicker over and she moves to change positions. “The Captain’s found us,” she mutters; and Liara turns to stand at Eriksson’s side to get a first look of the new Normandy’s new captain.

She is, by all accounts, _not Shepard_.

Maybe the worst part of all this was thinking she would be.

Solis steps forward with her hand outstretched, grinning lopsidedly and meeting Liara’s eye directly. “An honour, Matriarch T’Soni.”

Liara shakes her head as she extends her hand to grip the Captain’s. “Doctor, please.”

“Doctor, then.” The captain nods and still smiles, remains at ease; a good sign. “I’m Captain Shepard Solis. I captain the SSV Normandy. Welcome. It’s a real pleasure to have you with us.”

Liara blinks slowly, the name _Shepard_ reverberating uncomfortably in her head. She attempts nonchalance as she returns her gaze to the Captain’s. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t call you by your first name,” she says, offering a closed smirk.

Solis’ smile falters; the hand in Liara’s grip slackens briefly, then tightens in re-affirmation. “Of course. I apologize.” She winces. “For … my name. Over which I had no control.”

Liara’s lip quirks. “Not at all. It’s good that she is remembered.”

“It is. Our crew learned greatly from your mission logs and educational holographs before undertaking this mission. The Normandy SR-1’s legacy will be respected here.”

“I am glad.”

“ _I’m_ glad I was able to track you down before I have to head up to the control room. I just received word that your cargo was installed in your quarters. We expanded things slightly to accommodate your equipment. I apologize that this provision wasn’t made to begin with.”

“Hardly. The accommodations are significantly more than I was expecting. You have been too generous as it is.”

“No such thing as too much generosity for you, Doctor T’Soni.”

“Please. Spare no expense or protocol for me. Treat me as you would another member of your crew.”

Solis suppresses a grin, but it soon blossoms out over her face anyway as she holds Liara’s gaze. “In that case, crew members are limited to one regulation sack of belongings per person. Shall we hold the rest of your belongings in Alliance storage on-planet?”

Liara pauses and purses her lips. “I see your point.”

“I won’t treat you as a saint, Doctor, because we both know you’re not. I’m glad to hear you’re on board to follow ship regulations. But you are a guest, not a member, of the Alliance. You do us a great pleasure in accompanying us on this mission and no one aboard this ship is prepared to deny that you’re doing us a favour. Let us treat you as we would any other guest.”

Liara opens her mouth, then closes it again, unexpectedly tongue-tied. “Understood, Captain,” she says eventually.

In the corner of her eye, Eriksson is looking between them with evident interest.

“Anyway.” Solis grins her crooked grin, and Liara, involuntarily, cocks her head, as though following the slant of the smile. “My goal was to find you, and I did, so that’s that. Welcome aboard, Doctor T’Soni. Don’t hesitate to ask for anything you may find you need, whether it’s regulation or not. Your input is extremely valuable and we don’t mind bending the rules here to get things done.”

Liara blinks, then furrows her brow as she processes all this. “Thank you, Captain,” she says eventually.

Solis nods, turns to wink briefly at Eriksson, then walks briskly out of the observation bay without another wrod.

To Liara’s left, Eriksson makes a noise of intrigue. “Still not used to her command style,” she indulges.

“It seems very effective,” Liara adds.

“Effective it is. Still not sure what to do with the fact that she so overtly overrides Alliance protocol when it suits her.” She gives Liara a sudden furtive expression. “Uh, keep that between us, ma’am.”

Liara nods and smiles, and the two of them set off toward the lift again. “Sometimes that sort of leadership is required for unconventional missions,” Liara admits. “Given what we’re after, I’m actually quite glad to see we’ve got a captain who’s willing to take risks.” Liara lets her head fall for a moment. What was it Solis had said about holos? How much background had they really received? “I just hope she isn’t taking her namesake too seriously,” she adds, almost to herself.

Eriksson looks at Liara sideways, but then looks ahead again and says nothing.

  


~

  


Maybe the worst part of it all is how little, despite their alleged ‘training’, the crew of the Normandy _actually_ knows about the so-called ‘Last Reaper War’.

Liara spends two days ‘casually’ approaching members of the crew, trying to accustom them to her presence aboard the ship as Eriksson had suggested, and it ultimately only takes her that long to figure out that most of them know almost nothing about the nature of the mission they’re on. It was a couple of casual comments about the location of intel and the advancement of tech, at first, that had made her suspicious; but when one ensign eagerly acknowledges the importance of understanding the historical role of the Protheans in ending the Reaper threat _once and for all_ , it’s then that Liara clues in.

Admittedly, she acknowledges, 800 years is upwards of 20 generations for humans -- decidedly a long time to such a perennial species. They are a young civilization, at that, unused to curating histories over so much time; is it that surprising that the work done centuries ago has been diluted by time, by ambition, by ignorance, by hubris?

So she organizes lessons.

More accurately, she organizes _one_ lesson, a singular lecture, held during dinner hours in her quarters -- but to her absolute surprise almost half the crew show up, with word of the lecture having spread quickly via word of mouth. 

When she realizes that it’s more than two dozen crewmen queueing up in the corridor outside her room, Liara decides it best to reschedule for the next day; and before she knows it she’s agreed to hold a second lecture during delta shift so the crew on-duty were able to attend as well. 

Solis gives her permission to use the 7th level observation bay as a venue -- on the condition that she schedule one of them at a time such that she be able to attend, as well -- and Eriksson’s comment echoes obnoxiously in Liara’s head. She sighs. Maybe she has become Matriarch to humanity, after all.

The circumstances of the delay combined with the incredible level of interest in the lectures, however, present themselves to Liara as an opportunity. Scrapping entirely what she had written for her projecting slides, Liara begins her night of preparation by digging through all seven of her crates to find, finally, her personal effects buried at the bottom of the last box she looks in.

She quickly finds the object she’s seeking, holds it carefully in her hand as though using it as a guiding talisman, and makes a decision.

It is the first thing she holds up, the next day, before a crowd of at least 35.

“Who can tell me what this is?” she asks, without introduction.

There is a long, tense silence, until someone mutters: “Prothean memory shard.”

Liara takes a deep breath, decides whether this is _really_ what she wants to do -- and nods. “They called them echo shards. They were passed down among Protheans from generation to generation to make sure that history was preserved in its purest form.” Liara looks around; everyone appears captivated. “Would anyone like to guess who gave this to me?”

The silence is different, this time; knowing. There is no need to guess, but someone does anyway. “The Last Prothean?”

Liara smiles grimly and places the memory shard into the heart of her VI assistant. “Yes. His name was Javik.” She begins to pace, restless at the amount of explanation she feels obliged to offer. “This is his echo shard, brought aboard with him when we found him on Eden Prime in Earth Year 2186.” The crew’s heads follow her as she crosses the room; she forces herself to stand still and folds her hands behind her back as she continues. “Echo shards hold only representations of memories as understood by Protheans. I could show you the raw data held within, but you would not be able to understand the Prothean materials; no one alive today can understand Prothean data organically. To us, it would look like nonsense; our brains cannot process information in the way Protheans recorded them.” 

She pauses. For the silence of the engines and of the audience, you could hear a pin drop in the room. “Since the Protheans went extinct, there are only two people known to have been able to understand Prothean data banks: Saren, a turian Spectre who helped to bring about the Reaper Event of Earth Year 2183; and Shepard, the human Alliance Commander who shut it all down.”

Liara looks up at Solis. She is perched on the back of a chair at the back of the room, her feet sturdy against the seat, arms steadied over her thighs as she watches Liara with intensity. “I have, however, been working on a translation program for the last several centuries. It is a side project; my advances have accordingly been slow. But by deconstructing the various Prothean VI beacons the Council nations have uncovered since the Reapers were last defeated, I have been able to break down the shard data, apply Prothean VI translation processes, and extrapolate an approximation of some of the memories. I’d like to show one of them to you now.”

Liara steps to the side and gently touches her VI assistant; a holographic image flickers to life. Eight Prothean figures stand grouped together on one side of the hologram, each figure holding a blade at the ready. Above a figure near the front of the procession, a label appears: _Javik_. 

“This is a recreation of the Battle of the Cronian Nebula, near the very end of the Prothean era,” Liara explains. “For reference, Javik was approximately four inches taller than I am. I would like to point out before we begin that although the Protheans were obviously highly advanced as a species, they are here reduced to using knives; that is the point of defeat they had by this point reached. Please brace yourselves. This may be quite shocking.”

Liara prompts the VI again, and the hologram comes to life. The procession advances, each Prothean clearly on his guard.

_“Halt,” mutters Javik The other figures come to an instant halt behind him and stand, motionless, waiting for further orders._

_“They are coming,” mutters another. The sound of fluttering and flapping grows slowly louder in the distance._

_“In great numbers,” Javik confirms._

_“We must retreat,” offers a third. “We cannot face this many alone.”_

_Javik turns abruptly and holds the knife to the throat of his friend. “You would run like a coward and betray the Prothean race? Now? Here? You would run from your own people? I will kill you first.”_

_The second Prothean puts a hand on Javik’s arm and encourages him to lower the blade. “We cannot afford the loss,” he mutters to Javik._

_Javik looks at the third Prothean with disgust and turns his back to him. “He will die soon enough.”_

_One of the remaining crew steps forward; the fluttering grows louder in the distance. “He is cowardly, but he is not wrong. This is too many to face -- with our numbers, with our weaponry … we are walking into a slaughter.”_

_“As we have done before,” Javik agrees, “as we may again.”_

_“Those occasions were nothing like this.”_

_Javik adjusts his armour and nods to a comrade beside him. “Our vengeance will guide us.”_

At this point, Liara stops watching the hologram and watches the faces of the Alliance crew members instead as the slaughter begins. Collector after Collector lands, first in hoards and then in bursts of small groups or one at a time; Javik leads the charge, slaying a dozen Collectors, using them to shield himself, in moments taking time and attention to take a Collector by the shoulders and slit his throat from side to side, as though it had personally wronged him.

It takes three minutes. At the end, of his original crew, Javik is the only one left standing. Five dozen Collector bodies lay littered around him; he is drenched in blood.

In the holo, he sheathes his blade around his waist and crouches, briefly, to shut the eyes of one of the fallen Protheans.

“I will avenge you,” Javik mutters to him; then, with a furtive glance over his shoulder, he sprints out of the holo frame.

The VI shuts down. Liara stands in the silence of 35 stunned figures.

“The creatures Javik was fighting were called Collectors in our generation,” Liara explains gently, after a sufficient time of mourning has passed. “We knew so little about the Protheans then that we didn’t realize Collectors were once the same species, that Protheans had been corrupted by the effects of Reaper technology implanted within them and then evolved over time to form these agents of the Reapers.” Liara gestures to where the hologram had been. “By this time, Protheans had been primarily fighting these Collectors, other Protheans corrupted by Reaper technology, for decades -- likely centuries. By then, the Reapers were almost entirely out of the picture; they had corrupted enough of the existing population to finish the job they had started.”

“Why are you telling us this?” comes a wailing voice suddenly from deep within the audience. 

Liara presses her lips together and takes a deep breath in; lets it out slowly. “Because it’s important that you understand the impact of what I am about to show you next,” she says.

Reaching out to the VI again, Liara inputs the required data. Another holographic scene appears; this time, the Ardat-Yakshi Academy on Lesuss spans before them, with Kaidan visible to one side with his assault rifle trained near the door.

“Due to Commander Shepard’s unique ability to comprehend Prothean data shards -- don’t ask me about that, by the way, because I’m still not sure I understand it” -- a gentle laugh rumbles through the crowd, breaking the tension somewhat -- “and due to the fact that it was apparent to all that Shepard offered the best strategy against the Reapers of our era, Javik chose to pass the echo shard on to her. This was typical in Prothean culture, to pass on the memories of predecessors; it explains in part why the Protheans were so advanced, when they had such perfect history as reproduced memory to draw from between generations.

“The gesture was in one respect generous -- though, given Javik’s disposition, he certainly didn’t mean the gesture charitably,” Liara continues, again to faint laughter. “We have ultimately benefited from having this memory shard -- specifically, I suppose, I have, since Shepard left it in my possession before we departed for the final battle for Earth -- but it did not aid us specifically in our fight against the Reapers. I do think it will be useful going forward, especially if we can figure out how to recreate this technology for ourselves; and, right now, it is obviously useful for the purposes of education.

“But in another respect, Javik meant the gift as a portent. He gave it to Shepard in part because he did not believe she would be successful against the Reapers -- and, having seen what you have, perhaps now you can understand why. He felt that if Shepard contributed her own strategies and memories to the shard, then maybe, our generation’s knowledge combined with the knowledge from the Protheans would give the _next_ cycle a shot at survival.”

“But Shepard did succeed,” suggests someone in the audience.

“She did,” Liara agrees. “We’ll get back to that. For now, what’s relevant is that she took Javik’s advice and, in collaboration with Javik and myself, successfully managed to incorporate several memories into the echo shard before landing on Earth.” Liara gestures to the hologram image. “Fortunately for us, human memory is perfectly comprehensible in its data-shard form. I have not had to extrapolate these memories using any process; these are direct from Shepard’s mind.”

“How is that possible?” asks Eriksson from the back. Liara smiles.

“Didn’t I say not to ask me that?” she says, to another rumble of amusement. “No, I can explain some aspects, particularly now that I know more about Prothean VI communications systems. But the simplest answer is that Shepard interfaced with the shard in the same way Protheans did. Imagine a VI program that can communicate in terms of perfect organic thought. It conveys Prothean thought in jumbles because Protheans don’t process linearity. It conveys human thought linearly because that is how a human thinks.”

“How do you _not process linearly?_ ” asks someone else.

“How about you try having six eyes and then _you_ get back to _me_ ,” Liara suggests, again to laughter. “All right. I’ve compiled an abbreviated set of memories to give the gist of the situation, because I am trying to make a point here, but know there’s more than meets the eye. Here are a few isolated incidents as remembered by Commander Shepard. Remember, we are seeing things from her perspective now -- one of someone with only two eyes, processing simultaneously” -- again she pauses for laughter -- “so be patient with the limited scope of view. Oh, and -- you may catch glimpses of me in some of these videos. Please, pretend to be watching somebody else. I was very young and it’s quite horrific to be reminded of the age difference.”

Liara turns to the VI, pleased with her ability to be able to keep the crew engaged, and prompts the hologram to begin.

Instantly, sound comes into focus; the sound of repeating gunfire is heard to one side; Kaidan is shouting to find cover; somebody in the background is sobbing; an eerie scream echoes off in the distance.

Kaidan appears to brace himself with his rifle at the sound of the scream; he is clearly petrified. Shepard’s memory begins to pound lightly with the force of her heartbeat.

“Here they come!” comes Liara’s voice from Shepard’s left; Shepard turns to look at her -- and by the _goddess_ but Liara’s young -- before looking away and sprinting to the nearest cover.

Shepard peers around the corner of the pillar and sees two Banshees coming down the stairs on the far side of the room.

“Move!” she shouts, dashing out of cover to send off a Warp attack before the creatures can get closer; and the memory fades out with a few of one Banshee leaping toward Shepard at faster-than-light speeds with the other, screaming and closing in on Kaidan, on the opposite end of the corridor.

The memory fades back in.

Shepard is on Menae, with Garrus on one side of her and Liara on the other; a singularity burns in the background, likely Liara’s work, sending Cannibals flying in every direction. Meanwhile, Shepard watches Garrus send an Overload attack to the nearest Marauder before she herself steps out of cover and lights him up with a stream of gunblast.

“Shields disabled!” shouts Garrus beside her, taking cover again as a new slew of Marauders emerge from god knows where; and the memory fades out with Shepard taking a medi-gel pack out of her stores, just in case.

The memory fades in again.

Shepard is crouched behind a boulder on Tuchanka, and the Reaper is blasting furiously in the background. She is clenching her teeth, shutting her eyes tight, braced for the impact of the Reaper’s laser in case it cuts into her back and ends this expedition before it even begins; but the impact never comes.

There is a break in the noise, and Shepard emerges amidst a steady soundtrack of growling and explosions to leap to the next point of cover.

Once again safe, Shepard exhales and puts a wrist to her forehead before remembering she’s wearing entirely too much helmet to wipe away the sweat. James and Garrus join Shepard in cover, and the three of them brace against the next Reaper blast.

But it, too, fails to slice Shepard in half, and she takes a second to untense her muscles group by group when the noise subsides. 

“How are those hammers coming, Shepard?” Wrex is growling in her ear. Shepard very visibly rolls her eyes.

“I’m working on it!” she bites back, then takes in and holds a deep breath, bracing herself for the next sprint into certain death.

As she sets off at top speed toward the nearest hammer, the Reaper takes notice, adjusts, tries to crush her; and when she manages to survive _that_ , leaping to the side at the last minute, James’ shout rouses her to her feet and encourages her to shoot a bit blindly into the area he’s shooting into.

Out of the rubble, two brutes appear.

Then, near Garrus, another three start to close in.

Shepard shakes her head, holds her breath, and sprints away toward the hammer. Behind her, the sounds of James and Garrus taking significant hits forces her to wince harder as she runs as fast as she can in the other direction.

The memory fades out; the holograph pauses.

Liara looks out over the crew members for a long while.

“I’m showing you this,” she begins slowly, “because it’s important that you understand the extent to which history repeated itself when the Reapers invaded again. Just like the Protheans, we were forced to fight corrupted versions of ourselves. The creatures you just saw? Asari. Turians. Krogan. Salarians. All of them taken under Reaper control, implanted with Reaper technology, to work as their agents while the Reapers did what they needed to do to ensure the completion of the extinction event. And, as for humans? Well…”

Liara touches the VI again; another memory, older still, begins. Shepard is retreating, as quickly as she knows how whilst still firing a rifle, backwards through a tunnel. In the room at the foot of the tunnel, two dozen Husks are shambling quickly in, frothing at the mouth and spitting ferociously. In front of her, Liara and Ashley are endeavoring to retreat just as quickly, though they, like her, are firing, Ashley with her rifle and Liara with biotic attacks stacked one after the other: singularity, then throw for the ones that get through, then warp for those caught in the event horizon, and statis and lift for the ones she can’t keep up with.

Liara looks briefly backwards at Shepard, her very young face etched with terror and concern. “I can’t keep up with them, Shepard!” she shouts in the holo, though she immediately turns back and creates another singularity to keep them at bay.

“Retreat!” Shepard shouts. “Abort mission! It isn’t worth it!”

With Liara and Ashley turning and sprinting down the tunnel before her, Shepard fires off a final shot before turning and scrambling out of the door after them.

The memory fades out.

“Humans, too,” Liara says quietly.

Thirty-five blank faces stare back.

“There was a lot that was different when the Reapers attacked our generation compared with the Protheans. We had generated a more diverse galaxy; we had several species ruling and exploring the galaxy together, rather than conquering one another as the Protheans had -- though, there was plenty of that too. Our generation had significantly more diverse Artificial Intelligence than the Protheans had as well, which worked both to our asset and to our detriment. But like the Protheans, we had colonized the technology of species that came before us -- technology that sometimes worked with us, and sometimes against us. Like the Protheans, we were converted to fight our own kind -- a psychological warfare that was extremely difficult to overcome, as you can now understand. 

“And moreover, like the Protheans, we had access to the Crucible. They had nearly built it themselves; they came so close that we were able to use their designs for a significant part of the construction. We were actually convinced that it was Prothean technology. Now we know that it was built long before the Protheans ever formed civilization. But we don’t know how long before. We don’t know how many cycles there have been. We don’t know how many times the Reapers have eliminated organics. For that matter, we don’t know how many times the Crucible has been successfully deployed; the Reapers might have been killed before, and rebuilt in a different form.

“In the end,” Liara continues, “we know almost nothing, except that our differences from the Protheans did not matter. The Reaper’s methods were the same. And they were effective. The _only_ reason they were defeated is because Shepard pulled off impossible feats of teamwork and collaboration across species to construct a weapon that ended up destroying them -- _temporarily_. We don’t know anything about how they came to be. For that reason, we don’t know anything about whether they truly will stay dead.”

The silence, when she finishes, is deafening. Her voice reverberates slightly in the VI beside her.

Gently, she clears her throat. “Any questions?”

Nobody moves a muscle.

Liara takes a breath and catches Solis’ eye. She’s staring at Liara like everybody else, but unlike the others she looks alert, energized, and not as though she’s been exhausted just by listening to Liara speak. Solis nods her head to the side, just slightly, as though indicating the other crew members, and Liara realizes -- not without irony -- what Shepard would do in this situation.

“Please think this over. I know it’s a lot, but it’s important to me that each and every one of you understands the importance of this mission. Don’t forget what we have gained so far: Shepard triumphed. We have her memories now. We have Prothean memories to build on, or will as I continue to do this work. We are furthermore on an expedition to gain even more information from a galaxy we aren’t even familiar with; we are, all of us, about to discover so much for the first time. This is a bold and important mission, and it will help us to build more and more of a knowledge base, so that if the futures of our civilizations ever _do_ face the Reapers again, they will be able to build off the extensive knowledge of two cycles or more. They may be able to build a better solution than we did.

“You are important. This mission is important. Everything and anything we do on this expedition may contribute to greater hope for future generations. There is little more important than that.”

If the crew leaves addled, they also leave bolstered.

After that, the demand for more lectures is so high that Liara implements them weekly.

Maybe, Liara decides, if they’re willing to listen -- if the crew of the Normandy, at least, is really, truly willing to listen to what she has to say -- then she might come out of this in one piece. Didn’t Shepard teach her long ago that convincing a few can at times be more powerful than convincing an entire organization?

Still … she makes a note to see what she can do about getting an agent into the Alliance educational board. She may have given up being the Shadow Broker long ago, but being sufficiently well connected to be notified to any and all rumours about Prothean tech discoveries has still left her some advantages.

The worst part was probably not the crew’s ignorance, then.

The worst part _might_ have been Solis’ constant, attentive presence at _each and every single one_ of her lectures, though.

After the first one, once both Javik and Shepard’s memories had been distilled and disseminated among them, the crew leaves the observation bay muttering avidly or dismayedly about what they had just seen, and Liara turns and fusses with her VI. With her back to the crew, in case a few wish to get an additional glance at her as they leave the room -- such things remain difficult to accustom herself to, she finds -- she is surprised when she turns around again to find Solis still there, watching her carefully.

“Oh! I’m sorry, Captain, I didn’t see you there.”

Solis smiles her lopsided smile and looks at Liara, still perched on the back of the chair she’d been seated on throughout. “You don’t pull any punches, huh?”

Liara feels annoyance surge through her system, and she does abruptly away with all pleasantries. “Should I have shielded them as the Alliance has?” she asks, rapidly, fiercely.

“They are young.”

“Youth is not an excuse for ignorance.”

Solis’ smile has faded; she watches Liara as she begins to angrily stack chairs. “I didn’t mean to offend you,” she placates. “I’m impressed, in a way. I wish I could have told them the truth myself, but I wouldn’t have done it as well as you just did.”

Liara continues stacking, then stops, staring at the seat of the nearest chair as she processes the Captain’s implication. “You recognize what I’ve just said as truth. So you agree with my interpretation of the scope of the Reaper threat.”

“I do, although even without the background I have, I would’ve been convinced by what I saw here regardless.”

“You have background? So you were convinced that the Reaper threat is still salient prior to this lecture?”

“I have _some_ background. This … material is helping me to fill in some gaps.”

“What do you know? What have you been told?”

Solis launches herself away from her perch and walks toward Liara, hands shoved in her pockets, and shrugs in the same lopsided way that she smiles. “Suffice to say I know what my orders are.”

“And who gave you these orders?”

“You know who I work for, Doctor T’Soni.”

“You work for the same people who are telling these people, those _children_ , to let down their guard.”

“I work for people who do not believe junior officers, who are _not_ under immediate threat from the Reapers, need to live in fear of an enemy they cannot comprehend.”

“They would spread ignorance under the guise of protection?”

“They would,” Solis agrees, nodding. Liara realizes she wholeheartedly believes that this is the correct course of action. “There’s little to be gained by telling a truth that can’t be fully understood.”

“So you disagree with what I’ve done here today.”

“Not at all. You told a truth that _can_ be understood. You are literally writing translation software to make the facts comprehensible to us. That’s why it was so critical we have you aboard for this mission.”

If Liara sputters, it’s only for a moment. “ _I_ contacted _you_.”

“And the Alliance did everything they could to keep you out. For obvious reasons.” Solis is standing before Liara and smiling again, hands still buried in the pockets of her uniform, looking utterly unperturbed by the scandalous nature of the information she’s conveying. “Fortunately for us both, the Alliance was also highly invested in having me captaining this mission, and for all the intel they let me have access to, they were ultimately willing to give me the concession of having the only true Reaper expert left in the galaxy aboard our ship if only I wouldn’t contact you with the intel myself.”

Liara stares suspiciously, unsure of how to manage this information. “You really don’t care for orders, do you?”

“I think rules are meant to be broken. Learned that one from your old friend.” Solis’ smile widens into a grin, and, seeing Liara’s eyes narrow, she nods and backs away, as though to take her leave. “Anyway. This was highly enjoyable … er, in its way. Thank you for telling them what I couldn’t. It will make issuing orders a _lot_ easier when they understand why they’re receiving them.”

“And what orders are those, again?”

Solis gives a breath of laughter and throws a glance over her shoulder to check for eavesdroppers. “To adapt synthetic technology -- including that of the Protheans _and_ the Reapers, if possible -- to the fullest extent of organic use possible.”

“So this isn’t an intel mission.”

“It is. It’s an intel mission. It’s an advancement mission. It’s a weapons mission. It’s a mission for organic betterment.” Solis winks. She’s still backing away; Liara purses her lips furiously and resigns herself to following after her to keep the conversation out of shouting range. “But the Alliance also believes that it’ll be a lot easier to defeat the Reapers, whenever they arise again, when we’re using their own tech against them. Don’t you think?”

Liara’s jaw drops. “That’s insane! That’s misunderstanding the Reaper threat completely!”

“Then teach us.” Solis seems again entirely unaffected by Liara’s outrage, and Laira wonders if she has more suspicions than she’s letting on. “Please. We’re eager to learn. I know I’ll be at your next lecture.” She slaps the wall to call the lift and replaces her hand in her pocket. “Thank you again for your willingness to educate us. I’ll look into some grants to see if we can’t compensate you for your time.”

“That’s -- not --”

“Not necessary, I know,” Solis falsely intercepts, rocking up onto her toes and smiling amicably as a pair of ensigns walk by and stop to salute the Captain. “But it’s the least the Alliance can do,” she adds, saluting them back.

With that, Solis walks into the lift and leaves Liara in solitude to contemplate what she’s just heard.

Solis is true to her word; she _is_ at the next lecture. And the next. And the next. In fact, she comes to every one, sometimes to both lectures in a single week, even though the material repeats itself almost word for word. Every time she sits perched on the back of her chair at the back of the room; every time she leans with her elbows on her knees, watching Liara with extreme attention.

Liara can’t help but catch her eye, at times, when she knows she’s conveying something controversial. Every time she does, Solis gives her the slightest of nods, as though encouraging her to get deeper yet into it.

It’s awful. It is _awful_.

Is that truly the worst part of being back aboard the Normandy? Being once again under the watchful eye of a Captain who seems almost too invested in what she has to say?

Why should that be so bad?

Why should it feel _this bad_?

  


~

  


Is the worst part the anger she can’t control?

They have conversations, she and Solis. Solis is among the few on board, Eriksson aside, who speaks with Liara as though she is a scholar rather than a celebrity; besides that, Liara is always grateful for intelligent, analytic conversation on her research material. But when time after time, Liara leaves the conversations with some inexplicable frustration in her gut, Liara decides she’s angry at Solis. She isn’t sure _why_ , but is that really as relevant as the fact that she just _is_? 

Upon reflection, she decides that it’s frustration with Solis’ so-called ‘explanation’ of her dissonance with Alliance policy what’s getting to her -- particularly when paired with all the detailed questions Solis is asking about her work. Add to that the bizarre circumstance of being back on board the Normandy, and Liara concludes she has simply let her feelings get out of hand.

She accordingly sets out on a mission to try to ignore Solis to the fullest extent possible so as to try to forget that she no longer has any idea what she’s doing here or, indeed, why she was truly brought aboard at all.

The trouble is that even when she manages to avoid Solis entirely, Liara manages to ruminate on her anyway.

On the six full days between her lectures for the crew, Liara sees Solis exactly zero times, and yet thinks about her constantly. What could Solis possibly have said or done to bring Liara onboard against the Alliance’s preferences? What did Solis know about the mission that left the Alliance administration so vulnerable as to be negotiated with by a mere Captain? What in _Maker’s name_ could Solis know about the Reapers’ return that could have convinced her of its true eventuality?

By the end of the week, Liara is so worked up about it that the next time she sees Solis walk past her unexpectedly in the corridor, she tries to ignore her entirely, changes her mind, and grabs the Captain by the elbow and spins her around at the last second.

“I need to talk to you,” she mutters. Her pulse pounds loudly in her ears as she frowns at Solis pointedly; she hopes her voice is steady.

Solis bends to meet her downcast eyes and leads her gaze back up to neutral. “Hey, Doctor. No problem.” She gently removes Liara’s hand from her arm. “You only need to ask, you know that. What’s this about?”

“I need for you to tell me everything you know about the Reaper threat,” Liara hisses.

Solis looks furtively around, then takes Liara by both shoulders so as to shield her own mouth from the Lieutenants chatting at the other end of the corridor. “I can tell you what I suspect, but I’m not sure anything I have is going to seem particularly revelatory to you. You’re the expert; there’s no use in pretending I know anything unique.”

Something about Solis’ tone of voice encourages Liara to calm down. _How odd_ , she thinks. That doesn’t fit with what she’s decided about Solis at all. “But you know _something_ ,” Liara implores.

“I’m guessing more than I know,” Solis says, voice low and soothing. “Believe me when I tell you that you have taught me more about the Reapers in the last few weeks than I ever knew before taking command of the Normandy. What is it that has you upset?”

Liara stares at Solis and huffs furiously. Solis’ hands squeeze her shoulders reassuringly, and then finally drop. “I have a theory,” Liara says slowly, “that the Reapers may adapt every cycle, may use different technologies that are the most effective against the development of the organics of that specific cycle...” She stands up straighter and rolls her shoulders, works the tension out of her neck -- realizes it’s not Solis she’s angry with at all, but rather the Alliance board who sent her in with information they were perhaps trying to actively hide from Liara. “I need you to tell me everything you know about the Alliance’s goals in using synthetic weaponry in their operations,” she concludes.

Solis searches Liara’s eyes carefully, with no trace, for once, of a smile on her face. “There is a limit to my disregard of Alliance protocol, Doctor,” she says softly. “But we can talk. We’ll talk. I’ll answer your questions as well as I know how without well and truly putting my command in jeopardy. Does that sound reasonable?”

Liara deflates somewhat, but ultimately nods.

“I have plans tonight to wipe the floor with the other senior officers in a match of Skyllian Five,” Solis tells her, “but I can meet you tomorrow night, after your lecture. I’d prefer to meet in my quarters or yours for maximum discretion. Is that all right?”

Liara nods again, then says, feeling extremely embarrassed for herself, “Sounds fine,” she mutters.

“Okay. You know where to find me.” Then Solis smiles at her kindly, winks, and continues the way she’d been going before Liara ambushed her, as though nothing had interrupted her at all.

Liara stands still in the corridor for a minute, alone and silent, before turning on her heel and making her way to the starboard observation bay.

At some point between the second and third hours of watching the stars stream by in the bay’s vast windows, Liara realizes at last what she’s been denying to herself for several weeks.

It is _possible_ she has mischaracterized her reaction to Solis, somewhat.

This is decidedly worse than the anger she can’t control.

  


~

  


The _absolutely_ worst part, then, she decides -- once she’s finally prepared to admit that she is developing a _Shepard problem_ \-- is that she’s not even sure if she’s really falling for _another_ Shepard, or if she’s still reliving the last one.

It is natural, she tries to convince herself, that old feelings should resurface, given the amount of time she’s suddenly spending going through the artefacts of her own past. She’d felt them when she’d been splicing together the sample of Shepard’s memories in the echo shard, and felt them again when she presented them to the crew, but she didn’t expect, after all this time, to keep turning her head when she heard a voice that sounded like Shepard’s; to start at every flash of red hair she sees; to feel this affected by the N7 insignias sported on the senior officers’ uniforms.

But on the other hand, there is the specific peculiarity of feelings specific to Solis -- specific to her infuriating manner of letting everything roll off her back in a way that is decidedly un-Shepardlike, specific to her sharp humour, specific to her overt disregard of the rules except when they serve her purposes; specific to the way she watches Liara when she moves, when she teaches, when she speaks on any subject whatsoever.

Liara does feel a particular magnetism when it comes to humans of a certain intense disposition, that is true. Unfortunately, knowing that fact about herself does not simplify this particular matter for her whatsoever.

So it is with an utterly unspecified anxiety that she follows Solis into her quarters after her lecture.

“So the geth and the Reapers,” Solis is saying, building on her talk materials as she beckons at Liara to sit wherever she likes among the sofas and armchairs, “both used hive-mind interfaces in your era. Does it follow that preventing hive-mind interfaces from developing in the future may prevent that type of AI from manifesting?”

“It’s certainly possible that _that_ type of AI won’t develop, but that’s assuming we can even prevent the development of such networks in the first place,” Liara replies, seating herself awkwardly down as Solis strips her uniform jacket off and leaves it bunched up on the surface of her desk. “From our limited understanding of how synthetic life can develop out of VI programming, as it did with the geth, it is possible that such hive-mind networks are a prerequisite of social Artificial Intelligence. That said, it’s also possible that it’s not. It’s questions like these we need answers to; even the quarians aren’t sure how geth VI software was able to evolve on its own. Perhaps it had organic help. What we do know is that the Protheans had extraordinary success with building VIs that under no circumstances evolved into AIs, and those Prothean AIs that still existed prior to the Extinction Event seem to have been built with safeguards so the AI did not then go rogue.”

“If an AI can’t go rogue, is it really AI, though?”

Liara opens her mouth, then closes it and smiles. “Good question. I don’t know the answer. I don’t pretend to be a tech expert. But it’s this technology that we truly need to better understand, particularly as our species begin to build VIs and AIs again for the first time since the Event took place.”

Solis has seated herself across from Liara and has stretched one arm out across the back of the sofa. She nods at this, frowning with the weight of what Liara has said. “It must be frustrating for you to see the mistakes of the past being made anew without enough information to prevent the same outcomes from occurring again.”

Liara feels a sudden surge of annoyance; she shrugs it off. “If my understanding of how the cycles have operated thus far is any indication, this is typical. The Reapers won against the Protheans, and the organics that came to control the galaxy thereafter eventually created AI technology without even knowing the Reapers ever existed. In some respects it seems inevitable.”

“Do you really believe that? That it’s inevitable?”

“I don’t know. It’s possible. But I refuse to believe a different outcome is not eventually possible, with enough information and resources at one’s disposal.”

Solis nods. “That’s good. I agree with you. I’m glad we’ll be able to work together on this.”

Liara blinks at her with suspicion, then turns her head away and tries to make herself more comfortable.

Solis follows her averted gaze and smiles at her hesitantly. “I have the impression you don’t totally trust that I’m on your side,” she offers gently.

“It’s … not that,” Liara replies, blinking her gaze back to Solis’. “I don’t trust the Alliance.”

Solis grins widely. “A reasonable position.”

Liara stares at Solis, then shakes her head unbelievingly. “You are a fairly high-ranking officer. You are N7. How is it that you have reached this status with this level of distrust about Alliance practices?”

“It’s not their practices I distrust,” Solis reminds her. “It’s their motives.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“That their motives are out of sync with my own? No. They give me resources, I do work for them, and then I do work to further my own motives. Does _that_ bother _you_?”

The question rubs Liara the wrong way; she purses her lips and tries to subdue the turbulence in her gut. “I had been of the impression I was joining the Alliance aboard the Normandy in mutually-shared goals. To discover they didn’t even want me on this expedition was quite a shock.”

“Let me be clear: they didn’t want you on this expedition with _me_.”

“Because of the information you hold about Alliance interests?”

“In part. In part because they came to realize in the end that I didn’t feel the way they did about why this mission was important. In part, I’d guess, because my name is Shepard.”

Liara straightens suddenly -- watches Solis. Solis holds her gaze unblinkingly. "In part," she continues, “because I think they knew how much I was studying _your_ Shepard’s past -- off the Alliance servers. I think, on some level, they are as afraid of the two of us going rogue _with_ the Normandy as they were without it.”

“And that’s because … they feel I will associate you with Shepard?”

“In part, or in part they think you’ll recognize that I likewise believe that the Reapers may not be destroyed for good and have concerns that you’ll revive Shepard’s mission, so to speak.”

“I see.” Liara’s breathing is coming heavily; Solis cocks her head and looks at Liara with careful concern.

“You do _know_ I’m on your side, here, right? Is that in doubt?”

Liara’s nostrils flare. She breaks Solis’ gaze and looks away. “That doesn’t make this less difficult,” she mutters. “I confess I had my own agenda from the second I stepped onto this ship, but I didn’t expect you.” The sentence ends suddenly; Liara hates it, sits with it, shuts her eyes hotly against it.

Solis hums in contemplation, then allows a few moments of silence to tick by. “Do you drink, Liara?” she says at last.

Liara is surprised enough by the question to look back at Solis as she rises from the sofa and turns to a small panel in the corner of her quarters. “From time to time.”

“Will you have one? I stocked a honey mead before we left port, if that suits you.”

“I … all right. It does. Thank you.”

Solis nods and pours one for them both; hands Liara her glass and sits down before speaking again. Liara sips her drink carefully, but is acutely aware of the intense gaze Solis is besetting upon her.

“I feel as though I’ve pressured you into divulging or reliving your past when you may not want to,” Solis says eventually. “I want you to know you should feel free to stop doing the lectures if it’s too strenuous to talk about the War.”

Liara immediately frowns. “No, not at all. That’s not my concern. I enjoy doing the lectures. I have devoted my life to quantifying the history of what your people call the Last Reaper War. This is what I do for a living, Captain. Preparing the lectures is not any more strenuous than what my line of work typically offers.”

“All right,” Solis nods. “As long as you know you can stop at any time. You’re our guest, and I worry I’ve made you feel like you work for us. Obviously, you do not. That’s not escaped me.”

“Thank you. I do not feel that way.”

“I’m glad. To that end, you should feel free to call me Shep--” Solis stops short, and ducks her head, grinning her embarrassment. “Or Solis. Whatever you want. You don’t have to call me Captain, is what I’m saying. I’m not your commanding officer.”

“Understood. I may continue to call you Captain for convenience’s sake. You needn’t refer to me as Doctor, either.”

“Thanks for that. I’m relieved. I don’t much like doctors; I’d prefer not to associate them with you.”

“We’re not all bad.”

“So I’ve learned.”

They smile at each other for a moment. Liara drops her gaze back down toward her glass.

“So what is the source of the difficulty,” Solis asks, “if it isn’t me as much as it’s the way I am unexpected? I’d like to help, if I can.”

Liara waves a dismissive hand and looks at a spot on the wall to focus her. “It’s nothing specific, there’s really nothing to be done. Aesthetic aspects of working with the Alliance again … it would seem they hold more emotional memory than I had anticipated.”

Solis takes this information carefully, seems to mull it over in her head as she mulls the honey mead over her tongue. “I can understand that,” she offers eventually.

Liara smirks down at herself, feeling a bittersweet amusement at the sorts of details that tend to get to her. “May I tell you that you are not like Shepard?” she begins, smiling gently, hoping it doesn’t sound like an insult. “Not on the surface. You do not look like her, you don’t speak as she did. You have similarities; you are -- she was -- similarly intense, similarly driven by core principles, but you have an everyday certainty she did not. Do you understand what I mean?”

Solis smiles, nodding slowly. “To the extent I can, I think I do.”

Liara nods and continues. “There are elements … things I can’t quite separate from … those years. In the first months I knew Shepard, she had an Alliance Admiral assaulted so the Normandy’s grounding orders could be hacked into and overridden, all on what amounted to a gut feeling that galactic safety was at stake -- and she was right. She had an immediate disregard for Alliance protocol when it meant doing what needed to be done. Unlike you, she hated to be insubordinate … but she would make that choice, when she had to.” Liara averts her gaze back down to her glass in a pointless endeavor to hide her smile. “She would not feel the thrill from circumventing Alliance protocol that you do, but then again, she had a few key Alliance players on her side, so that may have helped. You do not remind me of her.” She says this with finality, looking up briefly to meet Solis’ eye, then down at her drink again. “Truly, you don’t. But I am reminded nonetheless.”

The Captain’s brow is knitted with sympathetic understanding. “Hence this seemingly boundless frustration with me.”

“It’s -- insensible, the way I feel. I don’t understand it. It’s ungracious of me to take it out on you; I’m sorry.”

Solis shakes her head slowly, watching Liara as carefully as any other time. “I’m not trying to undermine your apology, but I have to confess I’m not really negatively affected by your attitude. Do what you need to do.”

Liara’s unsure about how to take this. “It’s unfair to you.”

Solis shrugs. “Okay. Your girlfriend died saving the entire damn galaxy when she deserved to survive, and now you’re stuck curating her legacy in a world that’s starting to forget her sacrifice. _That’s_ unfair. I’m not gonna pretend I wouldn’t be fucked up about that.”

Liara opens her mouth, but is forced to close it again when her lip quakes unexpectedly. She takes a drink and looks away instead.

“Did you ever settle down with anyone else? In your Matron phase?”

A strange smile crosses Liara’s face. “I had brief affairs. The longest I spent was approximately eight months with a drell in the later stages of Kepral’s Syndrome.”

“Oh, dear,” Solis mutters. “You never wanted more?”

Liara shakes her head. “More what? More from whom? I never wanted children after--” She stops herself. There is a limit to her honesty. “One partner chose to ignore my disclaimer that I was only interested in furthering my career,” she says instead, “and was suddenly astonished when I refused her request to bear her offspring some months later. It seems to me that most people want more from _me_ than I want from them. What else am I meant to want?”

Solis considers this. “Companionship?”

Liara shrugs unconvincingly. “I have had companionship when I have wanted it.”

“In eight _hundred_ years, you’ve never wanted more than what eight months with a dying drell offered you?”

She clenches her teeth and sips her drink again. “I have always done well on my own.”

Solis stares at her. Liara clucks her tongue and rolls her eyes.

“Oh, what would you have me say? That I _am_ terribly lonely? That Shepard died and I haven’t managed to find anyone who makes me feel the same way until now? That I haven’t put adequate effort into replacing her with somebody else? There’s nothing to be done. You know as well as anyone that asari are meant to value the time they spent with another and then find a way to move on, but I have never found it to be that easy. I have failed at that as much as I have failed at any other expectation people have had of me just because I am asari. I have accepted that I am what I am: at once shallow and sentimental. Don’t bother trying to convince me I ought to be living differently than I am; no one has succeeded at that thus far, and neither will you.”

For the first time, Solis is looking at her without the air of intense scrutiny that has characterized her gaze. Instead, she sits back, something like surprise gracing her features. “Until … now?” she says slowly, quirking an innocent eyebrow, asking a genuine question.

Liara feels the anger drain from her expression as she runs her own speech over in her head. “Oh … oh no.”

“Liara, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no, please don’t be sorry, _I’m_ sorry--”

“I didn’t mean to push so hard.”

“I’m not trying to -- I’m not, there’s no--”

“Liara, stop. Please.”

“Shepard, I--”

Both of them fall deathly silent and stare at each other across the table.

“I don’t know what I feel,” Liara tells her eventually.

“Okay,” Solis says.

“I don’t know if it’s you, or if it’s -- Shepard -- somehow -- still--”

“It’s all right.”

“Is it??” Liara’s voice turns up too high at the end and she looks away again -- tries to placate her panic with more alcohol. “I should go.”

“I wish you’d stay.”

“I’m not trying to...”

“You said that already.”

“No, not entirely -- would you let me finish?”

“May I speak first?”

Liara meets Solis’ eyes and forces her mouth to shutter closed. Breath comes to her in short bursts; Solis watches her carefully, holds her eye until Liara has calmed, until she can hear something other than the sound of her own heart pounding, and then speaks.

“I didn’t realize you were interested in me as well,” Solis begins calmly, “or I would have said something sooner and hopefully saved you a good deal of this grief.”

Liara, stunned into silence, stares blankly, her lips slightly agape. 

Solis grins at her kindly from the sofa. “I don’t feel the need to go into too much detail about how captivating I find you, especially since I am sure you’ve heard that a hundred -- a thousand -- times before,” she continues. “But here is an overview. You are more knowledgeable than I am about almost every single facet of what I have committed my life to learning about, and more importantly, you are passionate about all of it. I have loved to learn from you; I have loved watching you teach. I would like to watch you teach more often, on more subjects; I would like to learn from you more often, and on more subjects, too. I would like to help you learn the truth you have set out to learn, if I can; I would like to learn it alongside you. I respect your career; I am committed to my own. I do not want children. I do want to bring you into my bed. And it is entirely fine with me if you want none of those things.”

Solis smiles gently and leans back on a heavy exhale, apparently more nervous than she is letting on. Liara continues to stare; Solis laughs gently.

“It doesn’t matter to me if things aren’t that clear to you right now,” she says. “If you decide you want to give this a try and you find it’s not a good fit, that’s fine. I’m practiced at professionalism after intra-unit relationships go south -- you know, that sexy insubordination thing I’ve got going on,” Solis adds, and smiles when Liara tuts her tongue in response to her own blush. “You have almost 900 years on me, and that’s just one of many, many reasons this may not work out. What I’m trying to say is that you don’t have to know how you feel right now. There is nothing specific I want from you. But I do want you. And now you know that, and I’m glad.”

Liara watches Solis carefully, tries to interpret the expression of bald, hopeful honesty on her face, and finds the seconds ticking by without a single thing happening within them.

“In hindsight it is possible I should have said this somewhere that is not my own quarters,” Solis says, breaking the silence at last. “Would you like me to leave?”

“No!” Liara exclaims. “Would you like to be alone?”

“No,” Solis replies calmly. “Would _you_ like to be alone?”

A beat passes. “No,” Liara says eventually.

“All right, then.”

“All right.”

More silence ticks by. 

“Would you like another drink?” Solis asks.

“No thank you,” Liara says. 

She watches Solis carefully, and waits.

“We should talk about Reapers,” Solis decides after another span of silence. “That is, after all, why you came up here.”

And then, Liara _decides._

She sets her glass on the table and rises to her feet. “It is,” she admits.

“I derailed our conversation,” Solis says.

“You did.” Liara takes Solis’ glass from her hand and places it on the table, too; and the lopsided smile reappears on Solis’ face.

All right, so that’s that; Liara’s feelings are _definitely_ not just ones being dredged up from the past.

“I’m sorry,” Solis says softly, as Liara sits herself on the sofa beside her. “For derailing.”

Liara leans over Solis, props herself above her with one elbow on the back of the sofa, and lifts the Captain’s jaw with gentle fingers to meet her lips -- the barest of touches, barely a brush of skin, yet enough to bring forth a thrill in her gut. 

“Are you?” Liara asks softly; and Solis flashes a grin.

“No,” Solis admits, wrenching the word from somewhere deep within her throat; and Liara, tangling her hands in the Captain’s hair, settles herself atop Solis’ lap, deepens the kiss, and _stays_.

So maybe … maybe having a ‘Shepard problem’ isn’t turning out to be the worst part of all this, either.

  


~

  


What’s the _best_ part about repeating history?

At first, serenity -- in its uncomplicated form -- is hard to find. Liara wakes up next to Shepard, with her long, dark hair and dark brown eyes, and it isn’t right. Then she opens her eyes and smiles at Liara, her usual sly and scrutinous self, and the surprise ebbs away into remembrance. Solis’ hips are more prominent, her legs are more muscular, and she smells of coconut instead of whatever musk Shepard used -- and it isn’t … what Liara expected.

Then Liara leans in and kisses her anyway, and _Shepard_ gives way to _Solis_ once and for all -- and it becomes all right, in the end.

The Normandy eventually finds its way to Andromeda, the new and improved relay system having finally proven its worth. The airspace is littered with shattered ships and free debris -- the landscape of a war long since lost and, on the surface, incomprehensible. They strike five fields of debris just moving through the first system, and though Liara is able to identify a couple of derelict Reapers, there is a lot more technology she can’t identify.

It isn’t what she expected.

And that’s the best part about repeating history -- nothing is _exactly_ the same.

For the first time in weeks, there is an announcement over the intercom heralding their arrival in the Andromeda galaxy; and then, mere hours later, another one announcing their approach to the nearest planet in the nearest system, both of them with names, “whatever they may be.”

Solis flashes her excited eyes and brings Liara down to the cargo bay.

The air of excitement among the crew is palpable. Liara remembers it well: the sense of adventure inherent in landing on a planet never been to before, only this time it is amplified by the fact of being the first human beings to set foot in the system since the Relay had been established years earlier. The atmosphere is wonderfully intoxicating, apt, decidedly familiar; and Liara is helpless but to smile at the potential that lies ahead.

Yet there’s a single moment, when the Captain puts on her helmet and turns her head to look for Liara, when she does it again: misplaces herself in time, finds herself eight centuries back, and for the briefest second, she has to remind herself who she’s looking at.

“You coming, Liara?” Solis asks; and Liara realizes she had assumed she would come along all the time.

Her breath sticks in her chest, burning brightly with hope and dread; and she shuts her eyes against it, holds onto it, until the moment it dies once again into something much easier to manage. 

Familiarity.

Then she reaches for the nearest set of armour, looks at Solis through her helmet’s visor, and nods.

“Right behind you, Shepard.”


End file.
